Rain, music, and tea, not crappy

I forgot to buy coffee yesterday.

I hate hate hate getting up on a Saturday morning and not having any fresh coffee.

I mentally reminded myself about sixteen times yesterday to buy coffee, in between begging my colleague to take Shazz' teenager on as a job shadow so that she would then take Kitty (both teenagers having monumentally failed to find a job shadow for Tuesday), making a million phone calls, going to the bank, having a good bye lunch for my colleague who left yesterday, doing my Friday meetings, calling Kitty to remind her to bring her bag, money, phone numbers, etc with her down to the island (she has gone home for the weekend), and playing phone tag with lawyers and various other people who are moving in our destiny over the next couple of weeks.

So I walked straight past the coffee shop on the way to the liquor store to get a bottle of wine so I could go home and collapse with exhaustion in front of Children of Men.

Of course I was so mithered I forgot to go into the Liquor Store.

By the time I got home and collapsed in front of the iTunes playlist, getting back up to go into the sitting room to put the dvd in the machine was too exhausting.

iTunes it was. Time to review new stuff and rank some stuff anyways.

After a few minutes of that, all I could manage was a text to Himself.

Buy some beer.

Which he did.

He's good like that.

Then he proceeded to drink most of it of course.

So we sat in the dining area on the hard chairs and shot the shit with each other all evening, because we knew once we sat on the couch we'd both be asleep.

We crawled into bed at the insanely late hour of eleven o'clock, having had the luxury of a conversation about stuff that wasn't interrupted every ninety seconds by 'can I make banana muffins' or 'can I call XYZ' or 'I'm bored, can we go and play basketball', or 'I can't get the hot water tap/ Internet/ stove/tv in my room to work'.

This morning, the alarm went off at six as usual. I got up with Himself because I was already awake. The people upstairs had dropped an enormous rock or something on the floor above my bed at four am, waking me out of a wonderful dream where I was hanging out with the Queen Dad doing whatever, which I couldn't get back into. Which made me really cranky.

And there was no coffee.

Only crappy.

Which is what I call the shit Himself purports to call coffee.

I had a cup of crappy.

Eeuwch..

I made a pot of tea.

Slightly better.

So now it is 7.50am and I have tidied the apartment, read the newspapers, checked my email, checked everyone's blog for updates, had my breakfast and I am on my second pot of tea.

What the fuck am I doing up this early?

It's pissing rain outside. It's going to rain all day. Kitty is not here. Himself is not here.

Why am I not in bed?

Because I'm Canadian now I suppose.

Canadians get up early.

Rock thrower upstairs is already gone off with a backpack and a walking stick.

Everyone else on the street, which I can see from my desk, is up and around.

Sigh...